Art of the Glaive
by Shhasow
Summary: Kel is approached by an unusual person with an unusual request.  Kel/Jon


**Art of the Glaive**

The morning was Kel's favorite time of the day.

Her peers could not disagree more; the slugabeds were more fond of carousing whenever possible than waking up at first light, but Kel relished the glint of the morning dew, the sun's first dim rays, and the fresh air as yet undisturbed by the day.

The Scanran war was over, and Kel had been granted extensive leave. Most knights used their time off to relax, and Kel was no exception, but relaxation to her meant waking up before dawn to practice before her the other, lazy knights.

As always, the glaive was her preferred weapon.

Already stretched and in the midst of a complex practice dance, Kel steadily transversed the entire training yard. Her eyes half-closed, she let her body take over, executing the strenuous motions with the ease born of instinct and practice. A pause here, delicately balanced on one foot, then a quick sidestep while altering hand position for an overhand chop that flowed into a low sideways strike.

This was her meditation, how Kel centered herself in preparation for the stresses and trials of the day. Her blue-tempered blade and sure-footed movements aside, all was still and quiet in the yard.

At last she came to a swift halt, the blade outstretched in one lunging arm. There was a quiet sigh, barely a release of breath, and Kel became aware of a presence not yards away. Breathing lightly, her blade arm motionless, Kel opened her eyes to see a tall man with dark hair and an admiring look in his eyes, a glaive held in one hand. She didn't recognize him, though she gave him an appraising glance and liked what she saw. He was a bit older, certainly, but handsome in a tempered, mature fashion.

Wait. She peered closely and felt a chill run down her spine. Was that the king?

Without his royal trappings, she hardly recognized the king, but his distinctive eyes gave him away.

Dressed in a drab training tunic, he looked as normal as any other knight. Still, Kel felt briefly ashamed at having considered him so frankly. He was her sovereign, and a married man.

"Lady Knight," the man spoke, and the deep timbre of his distinctive voice cleared away any doubts Kel had about his identity. She noted the glaive in his hand and wondered how long he'd been watching her.

"I knew of your skill with the glaive," the king continued, "But that was incredible. I haven't seen someone move so fast since Alanna was in her prime, and that was with a weapon half the weight and length of a glaive."

Had it been anyone else, Kel would have quipped that he better not imply that Alanna was _not_in her prime, at least not in the Champion's hearing. As it was, she smiled politely. "Thank you, your majesty," she began, but he held up a hand.

"None of that, Lady Knight. I am incognito this morning. You may call me Jonathan."

Kel nodded, confused, but gave him permission to use her name before she asked, "How may I help you, Jonathan?" That word felt strange in her mouth, and she resolved to use it as little as possible. It broke down too many barriers between them.

He gave a rueful smile and gestured towards his glaive. "I wish to surprise Thayet. She greatly enjoys practicing with the Yamani ladies, and I desired to give her another practice partner."

Kel wanted to ask why he didn't ask the Yamanis, but she bit her tongue. She had never been comfortable around the monarch. Part of that resulted from her unjust probation, part from her inherent distrust of someone wielding so much power, and largely in part to the fact that he himself, his entire presence, unsettled her in some undefinable way. She felt uneasy around the king.

He seemed to sense her unspoken question. "I would have asked Shinkokami or Lady Yukimi, but it is bad royal practice to remind people that you can make mistakes." He chuckled wryly. "I know that you hold no such illusions."

Kel's mouth quirked in an answering, if unwanted, smile.

"Besides," he continued, "the ladies practice during the day in view of knights and even pages, and while it would be bad enough to be seen unskilled in front of our Yamani friends, it'd create an incident if the pages were to know."

Kel gave up on trying to suppress her grin. What would she have thought as a page if she had seen the king flail about with a weapon she knew intimately? "I understand your dilemma," she said gravely, attempting and failing to erase the image from her mind. "Shall we begin?"

Kel watched the king with amusement as his face grew steadily more red and as sweat damped his crisp beard. She had put the king – as she still referred to him in her mind – through his paces with a simple practice dance with his glaive, suppressing an inappropriate glee at correcting his footwork and relishing her commands of "do it again, slower." He was surprised to be so winded.

"I wasn't aware I was out of shape," he confided with chagrin, mopping his brow with a sleeve. "You were breathing easily after your exercises, and those were much more intricate and longer than my few cuts, slashes, and chops."

Kel smiled politely. "It's likely you are not, sire." His name still felt odd to pronounce., so she used it as little as possible. "To wield a glaive with precision and strength is incredibly taxing. I am in the practice courts many hours a day; I don't suppose you have that luxury."

"That's true enough," he admitted, white teeth glinting in a teasing grin. "I'm just not used to the idea that I'm no longer as fit as in my younger days."

"That may be so," she murmured, unsure of what he expected her to say, and discomfited at his easy admission of advancing age. Not that he was old. Far from it.

Kel continued her practice as he rested, her mind unsettled by the very human king watching her every movement, his face now emotionless but for a slight upturn at one corner of his mouth. She decided that he was contemplating surprising his wife with his new skill, and resolved not to deliberate on the matter.

In fact, the truth was that the king studied the lady knight with something akin to awe. Jon had watched the Yamani ladies during their glaive-work, and perhaps they moved with more grace, but Keladry moved with deliberation. Each swing had purpose, a chop to the shoulders, a dodge out of the way of a blade, a quick slash to fend off an attack from behind. Each move was deadly, a possible attack or defense made so by the sheer strength placed into each movement. He would never reach the level of skill needed to make such difficult motions seem effortless.

Before the morning, Jon had decided he would only need a day or two to achieve proficiency with the glaive – he had always been deft with polearms – but now he was resigned to request more days of training from the stoic woman. It might touch his pride to do so, but he was grateful for the opportunity to study the only lady knight in the realm. Sir Alanna didn't count.

If he were entirely truthful with himself, Keladry of Mindelan fascinated him. Her teachers described her as intelligent, grounded, and extremely hard-working, with an unshakable adherence to an internal moral code. Raoul called her a natural commander. Wyldon had once grudgingly admitted that she was his finest student, though now he did so freely. The Scanran War had laid the warriors of Tortall open to the core, leaving their internal make-up visible to all. Keladry had certainly lived up to her praise, and beyond it.

Jon was tired of the second-hand knowledge. He wanted to know more about her.

She was a fascinating creature, to be sure.

After a full week of glaive practice under Kel, Jonathan gained enough competency to not cut himself or his partner in a slow bout. He was mildly satisfied by his progress, though bemused at the length of time devoted to it. Still, he could not fault the teacher, and he found Kel increasingly intriguing the more time he spent with her.

Kel, though, was even more unsettled by the enigmatic sovereign. He was not as expected.

The king laughed, he joked, he listed the latest gossip and rumors, an infectious grin oft playing on his lips. He focused with unwavering concentration – reminding Kel of herself – and he never expressed pain and discomfort as his sore muscles acclimated to the unfamiliar heft and movements of the glaive. Usually it was she who advised him to take a break, or when he was finished for the day. Kel was convinced that if she didn't stop him, he would continue until his arms separated from his body. He was rather stubbornly obstinate, much like Neal and again, herself.

Still, she could never be at her ease around the king. Every nerve fired around him; Kel was hyper-aware of the monarch She felt it when he arrived, even in the middle of her most complex dance, and his absence hit her as both a blow to the chest and a heavy weight lifted from it. It was as if she held her breath in every minute he was near. It felt good to take a breath, but strange too.

Sometimes Jon caught himself looking at Kel for too long. His eyes watched her deliberate movements, noted the scars littering her capable hands, and he idly wondered what had caused them, and how after years of fighting her nose was as yet unbroken. The feelings that crept up on him were unexpected and unwanted, and though he recognized them at once, he dismissed them out of hand. They were ridiculous.

Sometimes Kel caught herself looking at Jonathan for too long, her gaze catching on his muscled shoulders, his strong hands, his chiseled features. It confused her; it was unexpected, unwanted. Surely it was nothing more than simple appreciation. It could be nothing else.

Jon's request to learn the glaive put them in daily contact, and after a week, Kel was increasingly frustrated with herself and her odd fascination with the king. It wasn't until the end of the second week of practice, after a few days of carefully orchestrated bouts with blunted practice blades, that Kel finally realized what she felt. It was shocking, overwhelming, and inescapable.

Unfortunately, she came to the realization as the Jonathan executed a complicated strike with the steel-shod end of the glaive. Normally Kel would have batted it away without a thought, but she hardly saw it coming at her face.

Jonathan realized at the last second that she was not going to parry, and with skill born from desperation, managed to send the blow over her shoulder and just clipped the top of it.

Kel went down hard.

"Kel," Jonathan cried out, dropping his practice glaive. "What happened? Why didn't you block? You always block! Are you alright?" He crouched at her side, gently taking the glaive from her numb fingers, and lifted her chin to look into her eyes.

She stared blearily into his eyes. His beautiful expressive eyes that she allowed herself to admire for the first time. "I'm fine," she said thickly, enjoying the warmth of his hand and hating herself.

"Are you sure?" he said doubtfully.

Kel nodded slightly. Too much motion sent her head spinning, though not entirely from the pain. "You didn't hit bone, just the top of the muscle."

He winced in sympathy. "I know how much that can hurt. Let me dull the pain, at least." He didn't wait for a response, but called royal blue flames to his free hand and let them settle on her right shoulder.

Kel sighed in relief as the pain diminished to a manageable level. "Thank you," she murmured, slowly sitting up, drained even from the brief healing. He helped her, an arm around her back, other hand shifting until it cupped her cheek. He gazed into her eyes. They were hazel, he realized, a deep green with flecks of golden-brown.

His thumb brushed over the corner of her mouth, and he felt her breath catch. His own came quickly as he fought to master himself.

Just get up, Jon commanded himself. Not another word, not another step. Just get up and leave.

Kel felt her stomach drop as his calloused finger lingered on her lip. Blood rushed to her head and she hardly knew what she was about to do. She dimly noted his worried frown and traced his lower lip with a finger. "Don't worry. I'm fine now." She leaned her tired head further into the palm of his hand.

Jon hardly noticed the rocks digging into his knee, or the hard ground underneath. He only saw Kel's half-lidded eyes, her delicate nose, her full lips slightly parted in a soft sigh. Driven by an urge he could not, would not suppress, he leaned in and kissed her softly.

She was unique to every woman he had ever held, ever kissed. Her kisses were tentative, as if uncertain what to do, so he guided their embrace, touching each part of her face with his mouth and flickering tongue. When he deepened their kiss, she threaded her arms around his neck and he groaned lightly as he clasped her hard muscled body to his.

Kel was drowning in the sensation of his soft sure lips. They caressed her cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose, before finding their way back to her mouth. Her stolen kisses with Cleon had never felt like this, like a wave of passion that dazed and energized and comforted and set afire…

This was like nothing before. It was uniquely Jon.

Jon. King Jonathan. _Her_ King Jonathan, father of her friend and _married_.

She wrenched back with a gasp, her head spinning, arms pushed against his chest. His arms still cradled her. They both sat, panting for air, as if it could bring back rationality and reason.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispered, eyes averted, shame battling with desire to be enclosed in the circle of his embrace again. It was her fault, it had to be. Somehow he had sensed her sudden self-awareness. Kel didn't want to see the anger on his face when he came back to himself.

"No, Kel." He withdrew a hand from behind her back to gently cup her cheek again. He brought her head to face him. "It was my fault," he said with a hint of broken sadness crackling in his voice. "I took advantage, and I'm sorry. I never meant to, but I couldn't help myself. I lost control."

Kel said nothing, just leaned forward to hug him tightly. His arms squeezed around her and Kel felt safe and comforted, as if he wasn't the king and didn't have a wife. She laid her head briefly on his shoulder and felt his exhalation of breath against her cheek. They both savored the moment, for they knew it would never happen again.

A sudden tenseness in Jon's body brought Kel to her senses. She and her training partner had crossed the line. Irrevocably.

"I'm sorry," Jon said softly.

"Me too." Kel blinked back tears.

As they sat on the hard ground, partially entwined, Kel realized that there was nothing else she could say. This was as much her fault as his, for she had enjoyed every second of their embrace until she remembered that her training partner Jonathan was her married monarch. She had broken, shattered, and smashed every ethical code she had ever held in the space of less than a minute. Even if it was the most amazing and incredible minute of her life.

Reluctantly, Kel pulled away from Jon. He sighed heavily and assisted her to her feet. She grasped his hands, unable to resist one last touch, a glimpse of what could never again be.

Jon squeezed her hands firmly, fought the urge to bring them to his mouth in one last intimate gesture, then placed them at her side.

"Mithros' luck to you, Lady Knight," he said formally, all traces of warmth resolutely placed inside the mask of a monarch.

"And to you, sire," Kel bowed deeply, uncaring of her throbbing shoulder.

They shared one last glance before they separated.

Though the king had approached Kel for training with the glaive, and now he'd achieved competency, King Jonathan never surprised his wife with the glaive. He never again watched Thayet as she handled the weapon. All of those memories belonged to a tall woman with a dreamer's hazel eyes and tentative kisses.

That morning, shortly before their embrace, Kel had realized that she was attracted to the king, but as she watched him walk away that moment, she realized that she had been wrong. She wasn't attracted to the king of Tortall.

She was in love with Jon.


End file.
